Abdul Salam… A Child Named Peace Living in the Heart of War

I am Rawan aljuaidi from gaza, wife of Ahmed, and mother to a child who has not yet reached his first year. I named him Abdul Salam, hoping his arrival would bring goodness and safety after so much pain, but he came into this world amidst fire and the stench of war. We lovingly call him Aboud, yet he has never known the meaning of childhood or peace.

Since the war began, our lives have become an endless series of displacements; more than twenty-five times, I have carried my children and fled, leaving behind a ruined home, scattered memories, and pieces of my heart among the rubble.

Today, we are trapped in northern Gaza, in the heart of famine. No food reaches us, and if it does, it is stolen before we can touch it, because hunger here is stronger than anything. Faces around us are pale, children cry from hunger, and mothers hold their little ones with broken hearts and complete helplessness.

My husband Ahmed, my child Aboud, and I… our bodies are wasting away day by day. My little one’s fragile body is like a dry branch, crying from pain and hunger, and all I can give him are my tears. I wake to his cries, and sleep over my own helplessness. I feel as if I am losing him in my hands, unable to save the most precious part of my heart.

As if this tragedy were not enough, today the occupation threatens us again, forcing us to flee south. But how can we leave when we have nothing? By what means can I carry my weak child? And where will we find shelter after losing everything?

To survive, we desperately need:

$1,000 to buy a tent to protect us from the cold nights and scorching days.

$1,000 to secure some food and store it, hoping to shield our child from the specter of death by hunger.

$1,000 to provide transportation to escape this hell.

I write these words with trembling hands and a heart weighed down by grief. I did not start this campaign seeking comfort or luxury, but seeking life itself. Please… do not leave us alone facing this fate. Every contribution, no matter how small, could be the last light in our long night, and the difference between life and death for a child named Abdul Salam, who has never known the meaning of peace.

From the heart of a broken mother,

Rawan